


The Lies You Tell

by Glenjamin_Batthew



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Angst and Humor, Angst and Tragedy, Betrayal, Damage to Eyes, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hold Onto Your Seats Folks, Is this a kissing book?, Lies, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Instability, No beta we kayak like Tim, Post-Apocalypse, Revenge, Romantic Tragedy?, Spiral Avatar Martin, Surreal, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, spiral!martin, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26023066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glenjamin_Batthew/pseuds/Glenjamin_Batthew
Summary: “Introducing, our newest and truest member, The Poet!”Bubblegum-pink hair, an overlarge blue sweater, and soft brown eyes Jon would never be able to forget. He’s likely hallucinating, but the outlandish figure is most definitely Martin. Well, a version of him.“Hello, love. I trust you didn’t miss me too much?” He says with a smirk, and Jon gapes at him like a fish.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 20
Kudos: 60





	The Lies You Tell

Jon

Knows

Everything.

The door in his mind that kept back the sea is but a flimsy gate now, and his subconscious is flooded with knowledge, most of it useless. He wades around in it, but it doesn’t restrict his movement as he assumed it would. He simply wanders, learning more with every step he takes. If he needs something specific, his mind supplies it, pieces coming in like waves against him from afar. Sometimes he has to hunt for knowledge, sifting through the water for a single grain of salt. It is terrifying and overwhelming, and immensely satisfying. It feels right. He wishes it didn’t.

He holds Martin’s hand in his. They are close to the Panopticon now. He hasn’t mentioned it in a while, but Martin knows it as well as he does. The tower before them does not appear significantly closer, but they both know that illusions are not reality. They will arrive shortly, granted no one stops them.

Jon slows, intending to be the force that stops them from continuing. His mind churns as he briefly reconnects the bits of his plan in his mind. He knows Elias is in that domain, and he knows that he will want to stay himself. He knows the allure the domain has. He can feel it now.

He knows Martin will want to fight, want to kill Elias, and Elias will likely know this as well. He is of a mind to let him do just that, god knows he deserves to let loose, but there are too many things that could go wrong, too many ways in which they could be separated. Together, they have a chance, but it doesn’t matter. It will be difficult, and he knows that killing Elias, while being fulfilling for them, will not ultimately end this hell they find themselves in. It will merely make Jon the king instead, and Martin his unwilling herald. Or so he assumes. He can’t see the future.

With that in mind, he is quite sure that is one way it could go. He could keep Martin safe, keep him selfishly close, stay enclosed in that tower as they were in the cabin and ignore the world outside. Only Jon can’t ignore the world now. He wants to see it all, know it all, and the endless ocean in his mind will not keep him sated forever. The Eye always wants new knowledge, new fear. It wants more, and Jon will provide it, given enough time. They need another option. There are no perfect endings here, but there is one that will best suit their needs. One that Jon has been idly thinking about for some time.

Martin looks at him quizzically as he drags behind, attempting to pull him ahead.

“C’mon. It’s not much farther.” He says, and Jon loves him. He loves his optimism, his perseverance, his unyielding determination. Everything will work out because he says it will. But Jon knows that’s not how this world works, and he doesn’t want Martin to have to see him fall apart to learn that. He is his anchor to humanity, his connection to the concepts of hope, and love, and empathy; things that are all but foreign to him now. He is not a monster because he has Martin, and he reminds him of what he wants to be. Without him, he likely would have succumbed to monstrousness long before, with nothing to fight for, nothing to hold on to. He knows he would have stayed in that cabin alone until the sea in his mind drowned him and he emerged as different as the world around him. This whole quest was because of Martin; if he were gone it would merely have been Jon’s unholy pilgrimage.

“Let’s take a break,” Jon suggests, and Martin allows it.

The landscape around them is barren and dry. It was likely once a forest, though there were none like it in the heart of London before the change. There are tree stumps and dry cracked earth, small dead plants, and large stones. A lot of things to trip one’s feet, and nothing to hide behind. The sky is completely open, and the eyes that litter it are all trained fixedly on the two of them as Jon leads them to sit among the rubble.

He leans against a stump and grimaces, turning so there is less contact between him and the hard surface. Martin sits down and Jon leans on him, abandoning the blasted stump. They sit for a quiet moment, and if Jon closes his eyes and focuses on Martin’s breathing it is almost peaceful. They are close enough to his waiting domain that he doesn’t feel the ache of the pull any longer, and far enough away that it doesn’t sing to him. The calm before the storm, so to speak.

Martin is warm. That never changed, and likely never would. Jon searches for his hand with his own and twines their fingers together. Martin turns and presses a light kiss to Jon’s temple and rests his head against his. He is going to miss this immeasurably. There is no version of him that will not continue to love Martin with his whole being, no matter how inhuman he becomes. That is another fact that he is certain of, for once without the Eye’s assistance.

His tears are silent, and Martin doesn’t notice. That is fine. Better, probably. He has a plan to save him once and for all, and he knows that Martin will not like it. It is going to take a lot of explaining, but not too much, a lot of clever convincing, and speed. He hates lying to him, but he hates putting him in danger more. And he knows that whatever happens next, he won’t ever have to lie to him again. He waits until his tears feel dry to sit up a bit, causing Martin to turn to look at him. He seems concerned, likely at how long they have been silent.

“D’you need to take a statement from here?” Martin asks, sensing Jon’s tension.

“No.” He shakes his head, and Martin nods, shifting to face him fully.

“Then what’s this about?” He asks sharply, noting Jon’s peculiar mood, and Jon decides it is time to begin.

“I have a plan.” He says, and Martin’s eyes light up for a moment before looking up at the sky and back to Jon.

“Are you going to tell me what it is, or does that defeat the purpose of it?” He asks with a sigh, seemingly dreading the answer. Jon huffs a small laugh at his familiarity with his antics.

“I will tell you.” He says fondly, keeping Martin’s hand in his.

“I have learned something recently that is… startling, but that I think is the key to fixing this. All of this.” He starts, and Martin’s expression remains schooled.

“What do you mean?” He asks, and Jon takes a breath.

“Helen.” He says, and Martin quickly glances around.

“I – Helen? Is going to fix the apocalypse?” He asks incredulously. Jon, though he knows everything, is still shit at explaining it to other people.

“I was thinking about her doorway, her hall. She is an avatar of the Spiral, but even beyond that, she is an extension of her entity, more so than the rest of us are.” Martin winces at Jon including the two of them in with the others, but he’s past caring about arbitrary divisions. It’s what he is, and he’s beginning to accept it. Helen will be so pleased.

“Okay… so what does that mean for us?” Martin presses as Jon pauses, stuck in his head. He snaps out of it. They aren’t exactly on a time crunch at this point, but he wants to get this part over with.

“I have come to realize that while we have only witnessed her distorting space, she can distort time just as readily. This is evident in the strange movement of time that occurs in her halls and extends to her ability to place doors as well. I’m not sure even she knows of this power yet. Perhaps she was too afraid to test it.” He muses, despite himself. Martin is hanging on his every word, so he pushes on.

“I have a theory – or rather, I _know_ – that you could use her to go to any point in time, including the past. I can’t quite see what it would look like, how you would manifest, but I do suspect that you would be able to interact with reality just as readily as anyone else there.” He continues, and Martin brings his free hand up in a motion to stop.

“Wait, wait, wait. Are you saying we’re going to pull a _Back to the Future_?” He asks, and Jon shrugs. He knows a bit about the movie but hasn’t seen it in its entirety.

“Sure, something like that.” He agrees. He doesn’t want to spoil Martin’s enthusiasm. It sounds related.

“Essentially, whatever form you take, whether you are yourself or you inhabit your old body, you need to sabotage Jonah’s plans. The earlier the better, obviously, as the more marks I receive from the fears the easier it would be for him to sidestep and make it work. That means no going back to the cabin.” He urges, and Martin’s face falls a bit.

“What if it’s just for a moment, to give you another kiss?” He asks, and Jon can’t help but smile a little.

“No, it’d be far too late in his plans to try to change anything there. You can kiss me now, and you have my permission to try it when you get all the way back, though knowing my past self I’ll likely combust.” He says, and Martin gives him a proper smile in return. He is going to hold that in his memory for as long as he lives.

“Noted.” He remarks, but his joy falters. “Why do you keep saying ‘you?’ You’re coming with me.” He states, without question, and Jon stupidly hasn’t prepared for how hard this part is.

“I can’t come with you. It isn’t possible.” He says, and Martin immediately begins to protest.

“You can’t seriously be suggesting –” Jon interrupts him as calmly as he can.

“I am too powerful now, and we both know that I can’t enter Helen’s hall. It would likely kill both of us, as I attempt to know my way through and she attempts to confuse me… it would be a mess, and it would put you in danger.” He says, and Martin allows the explanation.

“So, what, you want me to go kill Jonah and come back to see if everything is okay?” He asks, and Jon squints, trying to think. He certainly isn’t an expert on time travel, but he has his suspicions that once Martin goes back, he will have to stay there. If he does manage it, this timeline will hopefully be destroyed by Martin’s actions, this version of Jon included. But Martin doesn’t want to hear that, and he is very nearly convinced. It will hurt him, he knows, once he realizes Jon’s lie, as well as whatever else he experiences, but it is for the best. He needs Martin to do this for them, and it wouldn’t have the same effect if he explained it fully.

“Essentially.” Martin nods his understanding, taking it all in stride.

“Alright.” He says, and Jon stammers.

“I – you’ll do it?” He asks, relieved at the confirmation. As much as they need this to occur, he would never force Martin to do something he didn’t, at least in part, agree to.

“Can I mess with anything else or will that have… repercussions?”

“I mean, I’m not going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do, as I trust your instincts, but I know we’ve lost a lot of people and I don’t see any reason not to try to save as many as you can, as long as stopping this change is your main priority.” Martin nods again, excitement creeping into his features.

“I could go all the way back, then, before Tim – before Sasha! I could see her again! The real her!” He says rapidly, and Jon watches as he gets caught up in the idea.

“I’ll be sure to tell you what she looks like when I get back. Or! Or maybe you’ll already know, because the future will be good and we’ll all be together, and God, you might not remember me, huh? That happens sometimes, in time travel movies…” He rambles, and Jon worries that he might be losing him. He needs him to have conviction about this, not overthink it too much. He reaches out gently to cup Martin’s face and turn his eyes towards his.

“I could never forget you, Martin. You’re too important.” He says, and Martin’s gaze softens.

“When’d you become such a romantic, huh?” He asks, and Jon swallows back more tears.

“Since I started reading your poetry.” He says, and Martin laughs.

“Then you should read some good poetry sometime and see what that does to you.” He keeps laughing, just a bit, and Jon nearly wants to take back everything he’s said, dash his plans in lieu of staying together, but it has been quiet for too long and the pressure of the eyes above him makes his hair stand on end. This moment should be just for them, but he knows Jonah and his patron are watching as well, and he doesn’t want to risk any interference from the man if Jonah believes this could work. Besides, Jon doesn’t think he can stand to drag it out any longer without breaking his resolve.

“We have to move quickly. Are you ready to do this?” He asks, and Martin’s eyes go wide.

“What, now? This isn’t like, a last resort kind of thing?”

“No. I – it’s our best shot, currently. And I don’t know if Helen could appear once we’re in the panopticon. It might be too… watched. Too _known_ for her.” He says, seeing it clearer as he says the words.

“Okay, that makes sense, I guess.” Martin seems like he wants to think about it, but Jon can’t allow too much of that. He stands, holding his hand out for Martin to take, and calls, “Helen!”

He waits a moment before hearing the distinctive creek of her impossible door. It always looks different, just barely out of place, and this time it stands upright behind them like a portal to nowhere. Her spindly fingers emerge first, followed by her echoing laughter. Martin scrambles to stand up, taking Jon’s hand. They both feel the need to be connected.

Helen opens the door more fully and steps out, her proportions just slightly off, features shifting just enough to make one’s eyes water if they stared at her. Jon smiles tightly.

“You came.” He says, unsurprised but still relieved. She places an overly long hand over where her heart should be.

“But of course! Thank you for having me, and so close to your new home.” She says, dramatically glancing out at the expanse under the looming tower. “You’ll make the place your own, I hope. Jonah doesn’t seem to know a lot about landscaping.” She comments and Jon waves it, and the implications therein, away.

“We need your help if you don’t mind.”

“Oh really? How delightful.” She croons, eyeing Martin. “You’re quiet, dear. How are you?” She asks, and he shifts beside Jon.

“Uh, good as I can be, I suppose.” She nods.

“Aren’t we all. What can I help you with, Archivist?” In any other situation, Jon would hate asking for help, especially from her, but desperate times…

“I need you to make a door for Martin.” He says, and her face continues to change, her voice the only indicator of emotion.

“There’s one right here.” She says while gesturing to the one beside her. Jon could see her endless hall beyond it, looking inconspicuously like the plain hall in some hotel, albeit one from the 70s.

“We need a very specific door. One that can take him back in time.” He continues, and Helen stops for a moment before letting out a peel of thrilled laughter.

“Really? What an adventure! It’s about time we decided to have some fun.” She closes the door she came from and walks around it like a game show hostess, dragging her claw-like nails across its surface with a sickening sound. When she returns to the side with the doorknob, the door shifts to one a bit smaller, duller, and more familiar. It’s the door to Jon’s office in the archives, almost. Jon feels Martin’s grip on his hand tighten and he glances at him.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Martin whispers, and Jon pulls him close, nestling his face in the crook of his neck and planting a small kiss there.

“I don’t want you to leave either.” He admits, and he pulls back just enough to see his face. The gentle slant of his soft brown eyes, the smattering of freckles across his face, the way his dark hair sticks out where Jon had just mussed it.

“This is touching, really; take as long as you need! We have all the time in the world.” Helen intones from beside the door. Jon sighs, trying not to let her goad him into doing… whatever it was she thought he would do. He knows everything, but he’s still bothered by his inability to see the future. He doesn’t know if Martin will be okay, doesn’t know if everything will work out, but if Martin leaves he will be able to hope that he is safe and not feel guilty as he falls to the Eye’s wishes, or kills himself trying to avoid doing so. He is _so tired_ of fighting himself. Maybe fighting Elias will be more fun. Or maybe, hopefully, he won’t have to. There’s still the statistical unlikelihood that Martin will fix it all, return to him a hero, take all of the dark urges from Jon, and throw them out as if it were all simply a bad dream.

“Martin, I trust you more than anything. You are smart, and capable, and brave, and if anyone was going to save us, it would be you. You can’t doubt yourself, alright? You’re going to do brilliantly.” He wants to say more, but Martin cuts him off with a kiss. He lets himself lean into it, savoring the feeling. When he pulls away, Jon sways in place, and Martin holds him steady by his arms.

“Don’t treat it like a goodbye, alright? If everything goes to plan, _which it will_ , I’ll be back shortly and we’ll both be on some nice non-apocalyptic holiday.” He says, forcing cheerfulness, and Jon nods silently.

“Right?” He asks, a concerned edge to his voice. He needs Jon’s reassurance.

“Right, yes. That’s the best-case scenario.” Martin nods, satisfied.

“Then that’s what I’m aiming for.” He says with determination.

“You’d best be off, then.”

Martin turns to look at Helen, straightening his posture and taking a step toward her and her door. He doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand, and Jon lets himself follow. Helen opens the door for them as they approach, coming to life with their attention back on her.

“After you, darling.” She says to Martin before glancing pointedly at Jon’s hand in his. As Martin continues forward, Jon lets his hand slip from his until the very last brush of their fingers. Martin turns back to look at him once they separate, a small, nervous smile dancing across his lips. Jon hates seeing Martin past the threshold of the unknown. He wants him back.

“Love you,” Martin calls, and the image is cemented in Jon’s mind before the door slams shut. Jon startles, not expecting the violent sound. He didn’t even have time to respond. Indignant, he turns to see Helen behind him. How did she – never mind. He knows.

“Well, that was certainly a bittersweet ending. How are we feeling?” She asks, and Jon remembers why he hates her.

“That was all I needed. You can go now.” He says, walking past her. She hears a noise of discontent from her and wonders how long she’ll continue to bother him. Martin has been gone for less than a minute and he already regrets letting him leave.

“Oh, no, dear archivist. We can’t have you all alone now. Who’ll keep you company now that Martin’s with me?” She asks, and he stops, turning to look back at her.

“What do you mean, with _you_?” Fear snakes his way through him. He knows that his idea was sound, that Martin could go back and fix it all, theoretically. He also knows this is a risk, but it wasn’t a trick, it couldn’t be –

“I mean, he is currently in my hall, searching for the right exit. There are so many doors to choose from, and time is such a fickle thing. It’s more like a piece of string in a kiddie pool than an arrow, if you don’t mind a mixed metaphor.” She winks. “Has it been seconds or hours? It’s honestly a bit stressful, isn’t it?” She asks playfully, and Jon’s head buzzes with static that only he can hear.

“Lead him to the right door.” He says, hoping his tone conveys the weight of the threat behind it. _Obey, or else_.

“Now, we don’t want to rush things. Perfection takes time. He’ll find his way. I just want to taste his fear first; he’s such a sweet morsel.” She continues, circling Jon like he’s prey. He has to change his tactic. This isn’t about his pride; this is about keeping Martin safe and averting the apocalypse. He knew this could happen, so it’s best to play it cool.

“I – I should have been kinder to you. I should have helped you more.” He says, his voice pleading. Helen laughs.

“Yes, you should have!” Jon stares at her, but it hurts his head. He looks at the ground.

“Do you want a proper apology? I _am_ sorry. I’m sorry you ever got taken by the Spiral, sorry I wasn’t able to –”

“It’s too late for that, Archivist. I have your love trapped within me, and I don’t see why I should let him go. It gets lonely out in the desert, and you don’t want me around.”

“I do. I – I can keep you entertained, right? You don’t need him. You want me. Well, here I am, and – and I’m about to confront Jonah. You want to see that, don’t you?” he asks wildly, hoping to call her bluff. “I can’t face him until I know that Martin is safe.” Helen clicks her tongue at that, a dissatisfied lilt to her voice.

“Now, Jon, that’s not very fair, is it? You bossing me around right after I did you a favor?”

“A favor? You haven’t even let him go yet. You didn’t actually do what I asked!” Ah. He has to try to control his anger. Helen seems to be enjoying the exchange, at least.

“Now, now. This is how you act after I manage to gain the first hint of leverage against you? A tantrum? You’re not even _trying_ to help him, are you?”

Jon is close to drowning. The ocean in his mind is churning as he searches for her weaknesses, ways to convince her, alternate paths for Martin, ways to communicate with him – nothing is helping, and he feels like gasping for air. There is a whole second ocean about Helen past the one he’s currently in, and it would take too long to absorb that one as well. What has he done? Has he made yet another mistake? The worst one yet? But no. He’s taken this risk into consideration. He knows what to say.

“Please, Helen. I’ll owe you. I’ll do anything you want.” He says, stumbling over a rock and catching himself before he falls. He can be a decent actor when he needs to be.

“Oh, you’re pathetic. Look at you. No wonder you were so reluctant to lose him. You can’t even walk anymore.” Jon cringes at her words, knowing full well they aren’t true but not wanting to test her patience any longer.

“I know.” He mutters instead, a reminder for himself and a pacifier for her. Helen hoots at that, her head falling back.

“Now _that’s_ what I wanted to hear! I suppose he’s frightened enough, and while he has been the best meal I’ve had in a while, I do owe the man. He was always much more understanding than you.” She says, and the door he had disappeared through pops open, revealing an empty hall. Jon searches his mind and finds a speck, a single point of joy nearly lost to the sea. _He made it through._ Jon collapses to the unforgiving ground, all the energy drained out of his body. He shakes slightly with relief. Now he just has to hope that Martin can find a way to succeed while retaining his sanity.

He looks up at Helen with a shaky smile, and she gives him a pitying glance.

“Happy now?” She asks, and he nods.

“Extremely.” She crooks her head to the side, watching him with interest.

“What are you planning?” She asks, and he stands, dropping the bag Martin had packed for him. He never really needed it, neither of them did, but it was something Martin had done for him, so he had been keeping it as a token. With Martin gone, he sheds the item and its affection like a snake with its skin. He feels weak, still, but knowing that his plan is in motion is gratifying beyond belief.

He begins to walk forward, continuing in the direction that he and Martin had been going in previously. Helen walks with him, or he assumes she does, for he can see the outline of her in his periphery.

“I’m going to continue until something changes.” He says, and Helen hums.

“An interesting choice. What exactly are you expecting to happen? Something exciting?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“I suppose you could describe it that way.” He continues forward, not caring when Helen retreats into her mobile domain and he is left truly alone for the first time since he ended the world. He doesn’t know how long he’ll continue like this; he was honest about that. Time is fickle, and despite his conviction that any change Martin caused would affect him instantaneously, apparently, that wasn’t the case, as here he is avoiding cracks in the wasteland.

What is likely happening to Martin? He has no way of knowing, unfortunately. Is he chatting with old friends? Attacking Jonah in a blind rage? Taking some time for himself? Jon won’t blame him if he is. He deserves a break. His mind moves to darker thoughts, though, before he can distract it. Perhaps Martin is dead. Perhaps he lost his memory. Perhaps he got turned around exploring the distortion for too long and went insane, thinking Jon betrayed him. Perhaps he found himself back in time before joining the institute and simply avoided it, starting a new life. That wouldn’t be the worst, though. At least he’d get a full life that way.

Jon does not think of himself as prone to falling to the lonely. He was always content to be by himself, as his thoughts on other subjects always distracted him from the reality of being alone. He’s always looking ahead, always analyzing some facts, always doing something. His main function is action. He doesn’t stop, and he isn’t about to now. Dark thoughts are certainly not new territory for him. 

He nears the tower in front of him with some trepidation. It is made of stone, of what kind he cares not, and while he had been looking at it from afar not seconds before, he suddenly finds himself at its base, looking at a single iron door built into the structure. He takes an unnecessary breath as he approaches and hesitates only slightly before reaching out and opening it. Within is a twisting staircase, and Jon sighs. He knows exactly how many steps it is to the top.

He isn’t exactly tired, as he can’t feel physical pain here. Here, he is immune to everything, and the significant rightness of being in the tower only grows as he makes his way up. He feels alive in a way he never has before, a power coursing through him as he dares to look out one of the many windows dotting the stairwell. He moves on quickly, ignoring the burning curiosity at what he would see if he really _looked_.

When he gets to the top, he finds himself in a large circular room. It looks suspiciously like an office, specifically Elias’s. The room has four large windows set into the walls, the glass so clear that Jon almost assumes there is nothing there at all, but he knows better. The views are breathtaking. Jon wants nothing more than to stand at the window and gaze out, and so he does. There’s no reason not to indulge a bit. The barren wasteland he traversed to get there seems infinitesimal compared to the rest of the world laid out before him. While physically he cannot see very far with very much detail, focusing on a place zooms in on it for him, as if the whole tower is moving with his thoughts.

The first sight that comes zooming into view is the empty cabin where it all started. It looks forlorn, or maybe dead, Jon muses. Its only purpose was to keep them there, trapped, and now it is simply an empty husk. They had moved on long ago and encountered many horrors he’d rather not dwell on. The view shifts back out to its origin, and Jon steadies himself on the windowsill. There was so much to look at, so much to take in… 

Suddenly, after gazing on what he assumes is the Bone Garden, he is there, surrounded by overgrown fleshy eyesores, untended and wild without their gardener.

He knows Jonah is behind him before he hears him and does not jump when he speaks.

“Admiring your handiwork?” He asks, his voice like venom in Jon’s ears. He has never hated a man this much, if Jonah can even be called one.

“You’d like it if I was, wouldn’t you?” he asks, not bothering to turn around. The bone rose is looking heavy and overbalanced, a petal that was likely once a part of a pelvis jutting out and tipping it to the side. A pity.

“There’s no shame in using your powers. Especially not in a world like this.” Jonah says, and Jon wants nothing more than to kill him.

“Even on you?” He asks, feeling no fear from the watchful eyes behind him, though he likely should. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know exactly what Jonah is capable of here, but he somehow doubts that he possesses the same abilities as himself.

“Well, you’re certainly free to try, although I doubt it would have the effect you are looking for.” He says with a smile. It is disgusting, and Jon doesn’t have to look at him to know that.

“So, this was your big plan? Becoming a supernatural voyeur? Surely there were less drastic ways to achieve this.” He states, finally turning from the window.

The man in front of him is one he has only seen in portraits around the institute, and once in passing in the dark of the Panopticon before the Change. Blonde and green-eyed, pale and aging, Jonah looks nothing like Elias, whose body he apparently shed.

“I already fully explained myself, though I would be happy to monologue again with my own voice.” He says with a gleam in his eye, and Jon can’t refuse the appalling offer fast enough.

“That’s quite alright.”

“I have to say I am surprised to see you here sans Martin. The stunt you pulled outside was certainly curious, but I think you know as well as I do that it won’t amount to anything.” He seems very sure of that. Surer than Jon, certainly. The one thing he knows above all else is that it is impossible to truly know everything, at least all at once. He smiles, and Jonah watches him with interest.

“If that’s the case, then why are you nervous?” The smile fades from Jonah’s face, and Jon takes a step towards him.

“I have to say, I did not care to anticipate how unpleasant it would be to have someone know me as I know others. I have never had the displeasure of interacting with someone aligned with the Eye who had powers on par with my own.” He says evenly, and Jon stops a couple feet from him, closer than he truly wishes to be.

“Afraid of your creation, Jonah?” He asks, his voice carrying a menacing edge.

“Well, as true as it is that you technically share this domain with me, you’re not actually meant to be here. You’re meant to – ”

“To be out in the world of horror we created, soaking in the dreadful experiences and adding it to my internal catalogue of how much you suck.” Jon finishes, and Jonah looks unimpressed.

“You certainly haven’t lost your charming personality.” He says dryly, and Jon wants to laugh, but he doesn’t.

“It’s the only aspect of myself I’ve retained, really.” Jonah seems ready to retort, but something in the air changes that they both notice. Something is… off. It becomes evident when a small laugh can be heard that comes from neither of them. It is quiet at first, growing with volume as the air buzzes. It’s a saccharine giggle, pitched slightly too high to be pleasant, and it echoes around them in disorienting ways.

“Not the only one, Jon. You always were a know-it-all.” The disembodied voice claims between fits of obnoxious laughter, and Jon feels his chest turn to ice. He doesn’t know the being that speaks, but he does recognize the voice as –

“Martin?” Jonah asks incredulously. “Where are you?” The giggling continues, and Jon blinks. The ocean in his mind churns agitatedly. Can it be?

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He sings, and Jon glances around the room for any sign of him. There is none, so far. He dazedly thinks he’d like to lean against something, but his feet are cemented to the floor, his heavy heart anchoring him in place.

“You’d be better to ask ‘when’ I am.” Martin’s voice continues, and Jonah looks sharply at Jon. He thinks this was all his idea, all some clever plan he came up with to best him. It was, partially, but he hadn’t foreseen anything, hadn’t known how it would all coalesce…

A familiar creak finally comes into being, and finally, there is something real to look at in front of them. A large yellow door takes up some room on the far wall, curved to fit perfectly in the space between the windows. It is slightly ajar, and Helen slides out with a wave.

“Hello again, boys. Miss me?” She asks, and Jon puzzles slightly. If she’s here, then Martin doesn’t have his own door, therefore he isn’t part of the Distortion. The creak seems to echo around the room as if many doors are opening. Jonah is not nearly as invested in how these events will play out as Jon is, and he spins wildly around.

“You aren’t supposed to be in here, any of you! How are you doing this?” He demands, and Helen reaches an elongated finger across the room to tap him on the head. With his exaggerated spinning and the placement of her hand, Jon muses that he looks like a figure in a music box, and he lets out a strangled noise to relieve the tension.

“That’s the spirit.” Yet another voice calls from behind him, and Jon recognizes Michael despite it having been years. He turns as much as he is able to get a look at him, and he sees a dark wooden door set in the frame of the stairwell, blocking the only exit. Michael looks at Jon with his startlingly blank expression, blonde hair falling over his shoulders in curls that seem to move in on themselves.

“What a curious thing you’ve become.” He says once his eyes lock with Jon’s.

“Are you ready for the man of the hour?” Helen asks, interrupting their staring contest, and Jon’s attention is wrenched back toward her. Turning back to the main portion of the room reveals a new figure, seated at Jonah’s imposing desk, though he doesn’t fit the image of an executive nearly as well as its intended occupant. Helen stands behind him and uses her best announcer voice.

“Introducing, our newest and truest member, _The Poet_!” Bubblegum-pink hair, an overlarge blue sweater, and soft brown eyes Jon would never be able to forget. He’s likely hallucinating, but the outlandish figure is most definitely Martin. Well, a version of him.

“Hello, love. I trust you didn’t miss me too much?” He says with a smirk, and Jon gapes at him like a fish.

“Oh, he’s speechless!” Helen squeals, and Michael makes a sound of disgust.

“How?” Jon finally gets out, and he is met with three simultaneous laughs, the awful reverberations making the glass in the windows shudder alarmingly.

“I don’t care how; I want you all _gone_! Do you know where you are? I will make damn sure you do!” Jonah bellows, having gotten himself out from under Helen’s finger. The air feels tangible at this point, between the static coming off of Jon, Jonah’s rage, and the gleeful energies of the three Spiral avatars. If he thinks about it, Jon knows that the domain will not be able to sustain all of them in one place for much longer. Helen makes a low sound, nearly a growl, and reaches down with her enormous hands to grab Jonah where he stands. She swiftly takes her other hand and pinches the man's lips shut with two needle-like fingertips, dragging them along his mouth until it is sealed like a zipper.

“Be quiet, you despicable man.” She says, and Martin claps his hands.

“Shall we?” He asks, looking between his two companions.

“Not so fast,” Michael says as he walks into the center of the room. “I would like to file a complaint.” Rather than addressing Jonah as he says this, he approaches Martin at the desk. Martin nods as he approaches, attempting to put on a serious face, though it is extremely overacted and nearly comical in nature.

“But of course, Mr. Shelley. Please, state your case.”

“The man behind me is firstly, a liar, secondly, a trickster, and not the fun kind,” He says slowly with a dark shade to his words, “and thirdly, just very rude, and I think we should kill him.” Jon watches the scene in front of him as if it is on a screen. Martin thinks for a moment, strokes his chin thoughtfully, and turns to look up at Michael with exaggerated confusion.

“But Michael, I see two men fitting that description behind you. To which are you referring?” Jon thought he had already felt the lowest low in his life, but he now realizes that rock bottom is only relative, and it stacks with previous lows. Martin winks at him as he feels the bitter remains of his soul sinking into the cool stone of the floor before him. The gesture holds no affection and seems for all the world to be more punctuation on his words than a reprieve from them. Michael twists back around, his shadow looming and large, and stares between an enraged Jonah and a frozen Jon.

“What a delightful question, but alas, I fear you’re seeing double. To me they’re one and the same.”

“Now, Michael, they’re not the same! One is certainly better looking.” He responds, and this time there _is_ a lilt of amusement in his voice. Jon is uncertain whether he is being threatened or flirted with at this point. He tries to comprehend what is happening, but the ocean that surrounds the three of them in his mind is a lurid pink, and he is wary of stepping into it with any hope of preserving his ability to think.

“As much as I’m enjoying this, we should wrap it up soon. The walls are starting to crumble.” Helen calls from the back of the room, her hands now back at her side, with Jonah tied up with a rope, like a villain in a cartoon. Jon is not sure when she did that, or how, but there he is, looking utterly disastrous. It’s quite satisfying despite the fact that Jon is starting to think his fate will end up being much worse. The walls are in fact crumbling, and the glass of the windows is splintering as well.

“Can I have the Archivist?” Michael asks, watching Jon with a cavernous hunger in his eyes. Martin stands from the desk and grabs a magazine off of it that Jon is quite sure wasn’t there a moment ago, and smacks Michael with it.

“Absolutely not. I have dibs. Obviously.” He says, and Michael turns to him with a frown.

“Next time, then?”

“Perhaps,” He replies, and Jon doesn’t bother thinking about what that means. Michael turns to Jonah with a lumbering movement and Helen takes Martin’s place in the office chair.

“Not participating?” He asks her, and she shakes her head.

“There’s something to this whole _watching_ thing.” She says primly, and she grins as Michael stands over Jonah and slides a razor-sharp finger into his arm, eliciting a pitiful moan from his subject, whose mouth is still fused shut.

Jon’s gaze is pulled from the grisly scene by Martin’s hand on his chin, surprisingly soft and human. He lets him guide his face towards his and takes him in up close. He seems largely the same as he was before, and if he didn’t know any better, Jon would assume he had simply dyed his hair, but he does know better, and the manic energy around him is altogether unfamiliar.

“Don’t like what you see?” He asks coyly, and Jon doesn’t know how to respond. “What is it, Jon? Cat’s got your tongue?” Jon winces as another muffled scream comes from the other side of the room.

“What do you want?” He manages to ask, barely repressing a stutter. Martin drops his hand from his jaw and takes his hands in his, pulling him towards one of the violently shaking windows and maneuvering him so that his back is to the room.

“You, Jon.” He says soothingly, but Jon is not so easily fooled. “I came back for you, just like you were hoping. I fixed the past and now I’m here to bring you home.” He continues, and Jon shakes his head. That’s not true. None of this is.

“No… you’re – you’re not my Martin.” He says, attempting to pull his hands away. Martin’s grasp is firm, though, and he holds on.

“Your Martin? Is that what I was, before? Your property? A thing for you to keep or toss away like rubbish? A plaything to use until you got bored?” Jon shakes his head violently, feeling sick to his stomach for the first time since the cabin.

“No! No, I love him, I do.” He says, and Martin tuts at him.

“Your little field trip certainly was eye-opening. I saw a lot of futures, and pasts, and off-kilter presents… and presents they were… gifts to me, from you, right? A little bit of knowledge that you will never be able to wrap your pretty little head around.” Jon gasps, trying to breathe. The ocean from his mind is leaking into his body, which is impossible. It can’t be happening. The sea of knowledge is only a metaphor, but he can’t tell that to his rapidly-filling lungs. Martin continues with urgency, clutching at Jon’s aching hands and keeping his gaze locked on his.

“Do you know how many timelines I love you in, Jon? Nearly all of them. Do you know in how many you return those feelings?” He waits for a second, and Jon coughs up water. Martin appears unimpressed with his response. “Five, that I’ve seen. That’s including ours, the one you banished me from not long ago.” That can’t be right. Jon is sure of that. He must have been looking in the wrong places.

“Ours is certainly the most tragic love story. A lot of fuel for disaster, as well as many derivative works. I wonder how it would have played out if you hadn’t told me to leave.” He muses, just as the window to his right shatters completely.

“I –” Jon chokes.

“Hm. Not much to say, is there? Close your mouth, dear, drool’s not a good look for you.” Jon coughs up more water, and Martin lets go of his hands, assuaging his myriad of ills. The leak in his mind is dammed up, for now.

“I think our time here is nearly done,” Martin says, and all at once, the noises stop. The shrieking buzz quiets, the building stills, and Jon reels from the sudden absence of it all. He stumbles, finally regaining control of his legs, and leans against the strip of wall between the two windows nearest him, feeling a humid breeze from the gaping hole beside him. It feels like the breath of some hungry monster.

When Jon looks back up at the room, it is completely unaffected. The office is just as it was when he first arrived shortly before, the only difference being the two additional doors and the three additional figures. Helen is standing by her door, and Michael by his, and Martin is kneeling next to the tied up Jonah, who looks like he was left out in a thunderstorm, and then a tornado, and then a blizzard… etc.

Jon glances between the three of them, but his attention lands on Martin, who seems to be waiting for him to react in some way.

“Ready for the main event?” He asks, and Helen begins to laugh, cut off by a sharp look from Michael. The silence is nearly deafening now, and Jon watches in growing horror as Martin holds Jonah’s face between his hands, his thumbs brushing over his cheeks, then his cheekbones, and finally settling over his eyes. Jonah stills, likely knowing exactly what Jon knows, what Martin seems to know as well. Jon looks away as Martin begins to press his thumbs down, and the suspicious lack of noise from Jonah forces him to glance back up, his curiosity overpowering his disgust. Martin’s eyes are on him, and Jon furrows his brows.

“You have to watch, Jon. This is for you. My gift in return.” He says, and with that, he forcefully jams his thumbs into Jonah’s eyes with an audible squelching sound. Jon wants to be sick. He feels no sympathy for Jonah, but the circumstances are… well, they’re indirectly Jon’s doing, once again. Jonah makes no further sound, and as soon as Martin lets go of his skull he falls to the floor. A bolt of lightning flashes outside the window, illuminating the room and revealing the dark, distorted silhouettes of the three avatars before Jon. Well, two of them. Jon expects a third, but Martin has no shadow, no secondary form. He disappears as the lightning strikes and reappears when it is gone.

“I think that’s our cue.” Helen says, and she waves at Jon before stepping into her door and vanishing. Michael sighs heavily and waves to Martin before sticking his tongue out at Jon and retreating past his own dark door.

The air feels lighter now, and Jon wonders if he will be able to float once Martin leaves. His limbs seem to be defying gravity, and he uses more effort to keep them in place than to let them move as they wish.

Martin stands from the floor and wipes the blood from his hands onto his sweater, doing nothing but making a stained mess of both. He looks up at Jon sheepishly and shrugs as if he were a child playing with paint.

“I made a bit of a mess.” He says, and Jon does not respond. He doesn’t even remember how to form words. This Martin seems more familiar, somehow, even though he’s covered in blood. Jon feels like he can trust him, but he knows he can’t. he shouldn’t.

“Well, I am sorry about the window, and the body, but I’m sure you have people here that can get those taken care of for you. You are the most important man in the world right now, aren’t you?” He asks conversationally. Jon’s vision begins to fade in and out. Were Helen and Michael really just there with them, or did he imagine that part? It seems a little creative to be all his own doing. What had Helen called this not-Martin, though? A Poet? Could poetry make him see things that weren’t there? Not to his knowledge, but he had already admitted he didn’t really know everything.

“Hey, are you alright? You’re looking a bit unsteady.” Martin says, and his voice changes pitch as Jon sways. He knows he should be bodily unaffected in his own domain, but that doesn’t stop his mind from playing tricks on him, apparently. If that’s the case, then maybe he could still dream. He doesn’t feel so much as see himself fall to the ground, and he knows, between blinking views of a horizontal world, that Martin is now holding him. Wasn’t he always? He’s just as comfortable as he always is, and Jon curls towards him, seeking out any shred of comfort.

Is he in the tower, or back in the barren field beyond? He reaches out a hand a feels stone, but that doesn’t help him narrow it down. The ocean in his mind is sideways like he is, and Jon can feel all the knowledge he once had trickling out his right ear. He desperately wants to move, to fix it, to remember, but at this point just keeping his eyes open is a chore.

Martin begins to run a hand through his hair and is saying something, but Jon can’t make out the words. It feels nice, though, and he relaxes into it. This isn’t so bad. Maybe knowing things is overrated. Some part of him struggles, deep within, a seed of doubt, but he hushes it. This is better. This is truer, as no one can really know _everything_. He will have to be satisfied with knowing three things. Well, maybe knowing is a strong term now. He tells himself three things. Or perhaps Martin does, the words he can’t quite hear penetrating the void he finds himself in. The first is that he loves Martin, the second is that Martin loves him, and the third and most convincing lie is that

He

Knows

Nothing. 

And when a lie is that convincing, how is it to be distinguished from the truth?

**Author's Note:**

> I had a flash of inspiration and wrote this fic today. PLEASE validate me and comment if you like it! I want to hear all your thoughts and reactions!
> 
> If this is too dark for your tastes or if you're looking for some recovery fluff check out my extremely soft (and extremely unrelated) JMart safehouse fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285588/chapters/61304278
> 
> <3


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